


The Effects of a Hereditary Disease

by spacekidmax



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Anorexia, Character Study, Dysfunctional Family, Eating Disorders, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Protective Gwen (Camp Camp), but not in the traditional sense, fatphobia as a scare tactic, i guess, not canon but not non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacekidmax/pseuds/spacekidmax
Summary: Max has been watching Gwen for a while. He recognizes the look in her eyes when she stares at food she won't let herself have. He knows she's one of the ones who "gets it." Who is suffering for thinness the same way he is. So why does she act so strangely when he attempts to reveal himself as a restrictive eater just like her? He's just looking for a kindred spirit, but he's going to get a lot more than that out of her.
Relationships: Gwen & Max (Camp Camp), No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 75





	The Effects of a Hereditary Disease

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm sorry if the formatting is a bit strange! I originally wrote this a few months ago to submit as part of my college application (with names changed, of course), and I wrote it in a format that is very different than AO3's preferred format. At first, I tried to recreate it to the best of my ability, but I quickly realized that, having basically no knowledge of HTML, there's a lot of things I don't understand. So I spent an hour and a half trying to get one part formatted the way I wanted it, and then gave up and made it more AO3-friendly. I know it doesn't look the best, but I really, really don't know what I'm doing coding-wise, so this is the closest it's getting to perfect.

When he’d passed out in front of Gwen, it wasn’t that he didn’t expect her to notice, it was more that he’d expected her not to do anything about it. And yet, she seemed shocked as he quickly shook himself awake after crumpling to the ground from trying to stand up. As if she didn’t know why it had happened. As if the same thing had never happened to her. Which was ridiculous. He’d never met an adult that wasn’t obsessed with their weight, some were just better at hiding it than others. Of course, that wasn’t counting the lucky ones, who never gave it any thought and still stayed skinny, but he doubted Gwen was one of those people. And yet, she stared at him with concern as he stood back up from the floor of the counselors’ cabin and brushed himself off. Maybe she just didn’t know that he knew. That was probably it, she probably thought he was sick, or something.

“Max, what the hell, are you okay?” 

She looked about five seconds away from calling in David, and Max knew the other counselor wouldn’t understand. Max had pegged David as one of the lucky ones five days into his first year at camp, and nothing the man had done or said over the three summers he’d spent here had changed that assumption. David wouldn’t get it, the lucky ones never did. He needed to play it off, but subtly pry, to see if she’d get it like he thought she would. If she did, that would be an incredible relief. It was always better to have someone around that knew, he’d be less likely to indulge if he knew she was watching. But if she didn’t, he’d have to weave a real good lie to get off her radar.

“Yeah, just happens sometimes, you know how it is.” 

Max had successfully brushed off so many “concerned” people that the fake half-smile on his face seemed to naturally appear as if triggered by the words. He kept his expression carefully nonchalant, hoping that if he acted like he knew everything without revealing anything, Gwen would realize he was in the same boat as she undoubtedly was. He’d seen her eat before, she didn’t seem to be as devoted as he was, but he knew how to recognize the hunger in someone’s eyes as they stared at something sweet that they wouldn’t let themselves have. And yet, her concern didn’t waver, wasn’t replaced by the relief of having someone know without condemnation. She looked almost suspicious. Of course, she didn’t want anyone to know! That must be it. He’d get her to understand that he wasn’t the enemy. It would be easy. He’d been doing this for longer than she gave him credit for.

“That’s normal for you? Max, that’s- that’s not good. Are you anemic or something?” 

Anemia. That wouldn’t be the first time someone had thought of that before realizing the real reason behind his behaviors. Like, seriously, he wasn’t sick, he had common sense. Surprisingly to some people, there’s a difference.

“Nah, I’m not sick, I’m fine. Just haven’t eaten in a while. You got any green tea? That usually helps.” 

There. If he really was wrong and she had no idea, she was just one of the lucky ones, that would hopefully assuage her fears. But if she knew, then those words would make a lot more sense than they did on the surface. Green tea and cigarettes were holy grails, and it was a hell of a lot easier asking for one than the other. Drinking green tea after getting sick of water was good because it boosted metabolism, burned fat, and usually satisfied food cravings pretty well, at least for him. Gwen just stared at him as he spoke, until suddenly, he could see it dawn on her. Finally, took her long enough. But instead of relaxing, she tensed up, taking a step back, and there was horror in her tone.

“Max, you- you’re not, oh god, when was the last time you ate?” 

She stared at him like she was looking at a ghost, and the fake smile slid off of his face, he’d gone wrong somewhere. If she had just been one of the lucky ones, she never would’ve reacted like this, just thought he’d missed lunch. No, she knew, but she wasn’t taking it well. He’d never had this happen. No one had ever realized who he was, what he did, and taken it badly. He decided to ease her into the truth.

“Yesterday.” 

The fear came off of her face, which he’d hoped for, but it was replaced with something fierce that he couldn’t quite identify.

“Jesus Christ, it’s four in the afternoon and you haven’t eaten at all? When, yesterday, did you eat? What did you have? And don’t lie to me, I’m not stupid, Max.”

She spoke with a tone that had neither pity nor anger, but some emotion in between, and Max found himself biting his tongue, guilt sweeping through him that he couldn’t understand. Why should he feel guilty for not eating? This was wrong, he was supposed to feel guilty _for_ eating. Eating something too rich in calories and then having to adjust the rest of his meals for the day. Eating too much, all of a sudden, after doing so well, and watching as the scale climbed the next morning. Eating because he couldn’t take the hunger anymore, and hating himself because he’d said he wasn’t going to eat again until the next day. He tried to shut the feeling down, pretended he was just making a food report like he’d done so many times.

“At lunch. An apple and a pear. I didn’t want the rest of my food, so I gave it to Nikki in exchange for her piece of fruit. But I did have breakfast that day. It was just… I knew that we wouldn’t be doing anything active for the rest of the day, so I wouldn’t be able to burn it off.” 

Max knew he shouldn’t have mentioned not being able to burn the calories off, that the more Gwen knew, the worse it would be, but every bit of cunning and deceit had left him, so he just let the words out, staring at the floor as to not see the disappointment he was sure would be in her eyes. He was so used to doing that for the opposite reason, telling of a particularly bad day and being given stern guidance for the next.

And then Gwen asked the one question he’d somehow never even considered. “God, Max, why? Why do you do this?”

Max stood in shocked silence, contemplating the question and trying to prevent himself from swaying on his feet. He raised his head to look at Gwen and saw sorrow in her eyes. But he didn’t know how to answer the question. He thought for a little while, and realized it was just routine and fear. He was afraid, and he didn’t know why. He was used to it, he was pushed into it, so he did it. That was all it really came down to. Strange, how he’d disobeyed every other rule his mother ever gave him, but not this. Never this. He’d always listened when she spoke with vitriol about the lucky ones, who didn’t even have to think about dieting, about the pigs who gave up, who lived their disgusting, unhappy lives, always hating themselves but not putting in the effort to change. How she was always striving to be better, and that he should be too. It was just how they lived. 

When he was younger, it was trying a new fad every few months: paleo, keto, gluten free, dairy free, vegetarian, vegan. Having to ask to see the labels on anything he was provided at sleepovers, until he gradually stopped being invited. And then came the cleanses, where she’d consume nothing but tea or juice for days, and if she couldn’t eat, then he couldn’t either, at least not in front of her. She’d always rationalized it as not only being healthy for him to cleanse, but if she saw him eating when she couldn’t, she’d get terrible cravings, and he didn’t want to ruin her progress, did he? Well, the cleanses worked in the short term, and then she discovered restrictive eating and started making calorie plans for both of them. When that seemed to go okay, but not as fast as she’d liked, she started adding in cleanses to the calorie plans, and then went even further in adding days of fasting. And he got used to it. It was just something that they did.

And no matter how much more appetizing pierogi day at school looked than his two slices of toast with a thin layer of hummus in the middle, he’d still eat his home-brought lunch. Because if he ate school lunch, that would be too many calories. If he had too many calories, he’d have to make up for it by fasting the next day, and the days that he fasted were always the worst. If he didn’t eat the right way, he’d get fat, he’d be disgusting and unhappy and he’d hate himself for the rest of his life. At least, that’s what she always said. And she had to have been right, because she always said she used to be one of those people, disgusting and unhappy and fat, and she dieted because she wanted to be better, and she’d gotten so much better, but she was still fat and disgusting and unhappy, so she would continue dieting until she wasn’t. She would tell him whenever he fucked up that she was more lenient on him because for him, dieting was a preventative measure. So he didn’t grow up to be fat and disgusting and unhappy. Because that was the worst thing someone could be, according to her. And so he learned to like the feeling of an empty stomach, of weighing himself on the scale every morning to make sure he hadn’t gained any weight. And he’d started stealing her cigarettes on occasion, because she always said they were perfect for when the cravings hit, until she caught him one day and told him, “well, at least you’re not binging.” From then on, he could take a cigarette from her pack as a last resort against the cravings, and she wouldn’t bring it up. 

And it was normal. That’s just how things were. Not that he had much to compare it against, no one wants to be friends with the overly defensive kid who shivers under his hoodie in the warmest classrooms, who blacks out when he stands up too quickly, who looks at everyone’s food like he’s about to devour it but waves it off if it’s offered to him. So what he ate was completely normal, and everyone who got concerned about it was just one of the lucky ones who didn’t know what normal people had to go through to stay skinny.

Until he got to camp that first year, back when he was ten, and he’d only been calorie counting with fasting periods for a year, and made friends for the first time. And those friends were confused when he poked at his food and wondered out loud how many calories were in it. So he didn’t talk about it to them. Nikki was always hungry enough to eat his lunch for him, and Neil was too absorbed in his own little world of science experiments and math equations to notice if Nikki ate his lunch every day. He found out where the food was kept, and snuck into the mess hall one night when the hunger pangs were keeping him awake to read labels and make a mental list of what he could and could not eat. There were no scales at camp, which had been scary, but he dealt with it by eating less than he normally would and hoping for the best.

And when he’d gotten home after that first year, he’d reported his strategy to his mother and she nodded in approval, chain smoking cigarettes on the front porch because she’d been on a juice and tea cleanse for a week, as he ran in the house, going straight for the scale. When he’d gone back outside to tell her he’d only gained five pounds over the entire summer, and that he was sure it was all height, she’d smiled at him, and told him the two of them were going to cleanse for the next three days, and could he make her some cucumber water? And he had, because that was their normal. Everything about it was normal. That’s why he did it. So he plead to Gwen, that he was right. That she would understand.

“Doesn’t everyone? Except for the lucky ones, of course. The people who don’t have to think about it. But you get it, I know you do, I’ve seen the way you look at things you won’t let yourself have. You’re just like me, we have to suffer to stay thin. And that’s just how it is.”

And Max had made adults cry before. He’d made his mother cry when he walked out into the kitchen to find her binging. He’d made multiple babysitters and substitute teachers cry with his assholery. Hell, he’d even made David cry before, in the three years he’d been at camp. But to see Gwen, sarcastic, down to earth Gwen, absolutely crumple onto the bed she was standing in front of, head in her hands, made him feel like some kind of monster. It was a guilt worse than he’d ever felt, worse than after the biggest binge he’d ever had, worse than making David have a breakdown in front of him during his first summer of camp. 

And the hardest part was that he just didn’t understand why she sobbed into her hands at his words. He’d always been the clever one, the mastermind of schemes, too mature for his own good, but he was so confused. He had just been telling the truth. It wasn’t like he said he was going to tell everyone that he knew she did it too. He might be an asshole, but that would be crossing a line. He was concerned- no, scared. He was scared. Because he’d just revealed his biggest secret to Gwen, thinking she’d understand, and now she was crying. He bit his lip nervously, having no idea what to do next, eventually deciding to gently verbally prod Gwen into giving him some kind of explanation.

“Gwen? Are you, uh, okay? Look, I don’t know what I said that made you upset, but I swear, I’m not gonna tell anyone that I know you’re like me, okay? I’m an asshole, but even I have the sense to know how shitty that is. I just thought you’d understand, since you’re like me, and I got carried away. I’m, um, sorry that I made you cry.”

“Used to.” Her voice was low and nearly hoarse from crying, and she refused to lift her head from her hands. 

“Used to be like you,” she clarified. 

And oh, that made so much sense. He’d never even considered that someone could just- stop. It had always been a constant battle for him, he’d never had the ability to stop. He felt like his mind had expanded tenfold with her single sentence.

“Why’d you stop?” 

The words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them, curiosity and trepidation at war within him. 

And Gwen finally lifted her head from her hands, face wet, eyes puffy, still sniffling, and looked at him with such intensity that he felt the urge to take a step back. 

“Because it’s a fucking disease, Max. I don’t know how self-aware you are, obviously not very, but that’s not your fault. And I don’t know who or what is telling you that starving yourself is your only path to happiness, but god, please believe me when I tell you it’s not. There are so many things out there devote your life to, don’t live for counting calories and staring at a scale. I lost my teenage years to anorexia and body dysmorphia, took me three hospital stays and eight years of suffering to finally realize how distorted my own view of myself had become. I went to rehab, I’ve relapsed multiple times, but it’s been three years and I’m recovering. And as you so cleverly picked up, I’m not perfectly well yet. There are still days where the idea of dessert is terrifying, where I look at myself and see something horrifying and ugly, but god damnit, I’ve made so much progress. I have a really good support system, and maybe I don’t know if I’ll ever have a normal relationship with food or with my own self image, but I’m trying so hard to recover. And that’s enough for me. It’s just so fucking terrifying to hear you say that you’re perfectly okay with suffering to stay thin, because you’re fucking twelve! You sound like you’ve been doing this for a long time, and you’re two years younger than I was when I first started. Max, this isn’t normal. You need help before it’s too late and this consumes your life.”

And for once, the boy who always had a sarcastic comeback was at a loss for words. 

_Went to rehab,_

_relapsed multiple times,_

_three hospital stays,_

_eight years of suffering,_

_a really good support system,_

_I’m not perfectly well yet,_

_days where the idea of dessert is terrifying,_

_god damnit, I’ve made so much progress,_

_you’re two years younger than I was when I first started,_

_I’m trying so hard to recover._

_Because it’s a fucking disease._

She called it a fucking disease.  
It’s not a disease.  
It can’t be.  
It’s a way of life.  
No,  
That implies it’s a choice.  
It’s just how things are.  
It’s how they’ve always been.

_You need help before it’s too late._

No!  
There’s nothing wrong with the way he’s living.  
He’s made it this far, hasn’t he?  
He can’t give up  
He’ll become…  
He’ll become bad.  
Unlovable.  
Spoken about in the same vitriol as his mother talks about-  
disgusting/unhappy/fat/hating themselves/given up/lazy pigs.

_I don’t know if I’ll ever have a normal relationship with food_

What is normal?  
And why isn’t this it?  
Why isn’t normal stealing cigarettes to take care of cravings?  
Why isn’t normal “at least you’re not binging?”  
Why isn’t normal daily food reports?  
Guilt at accepting candy from a classmate?  
Reading the labels of everything?  
Romanticizing the pangs of hunger?  
Thinking the feeling of being full is disgusting?  
Eating one meal a day, the rest just being small snacks?  
The magic number being 1200, then 1000…  
Then feeling gross if he goes over 800 unless he’s on a break?  
Having memorized the amount of calories in  
Rice cakes? 28.  
Cucumber? 15.  
A diet V8 energy drink? 10.  
Air popped popcorn? 31.  
A sugar free jello cup? 5.  
Miso soup? 35.  
Green tea, black coffee, diet soda? 0.  
Why isn’t normal the satisfaction only numbers can bring?

_Don’t live for counting calories and staring at a scale_

Then what will he live for?  
Nikki eats his food without thinking  
She burns more calories than he does  
But she doesn’t think about it like that  
Instead, she lives for-  
Nature. Adventure. Excitement.  
Having fun.  
Max doesn’t know how to have fun.  
Not without the subtle thoughts  
Of whether he’s doing well or not  
Always in the back of his mind.  
Meanwhile Neil never notices if Max gives his lunch away  
He’s always thinking, never observing.  
He’s much less active than Max  
But he still eats, three meals, every day.  
Even if he’s complaining about the food  
And its mysterious components.  
Trying to identify what he’s eating  
Threatening to put it under his microscope.  
Max also doesn’t trust mysterious food  
He can’t tell how many calories are in it.  
Max also examines his food thoroughly  
It’s a good way of pretending to eat it.

_I don’t know how self-aware you are, obviously not very-_

God, what’s wrong with him?  
Why has he never second-guessed any of this?  
No one else pays this much attention to food  
Not at camp, not at school, nowhere  
He could’ve fooled himself  
That those who brought bagged lunch were hiding  
But he’s spent so many meals here watching the others eat  
If his mother had been right-  
One of them, at least one of them, would’ve had to been-  
There can’t be that many lucky ones out there.  
Not if they really are the minority.  
So why has he never met anyone who suffers like him?  
No friends his age to count calories with  
Or compare their favorite safe foods  
He’s never brought two mugs of green tea out with a grimace  
And an offhand comment that they’re both in this together  
He’s seen his mother do those things  
She has friends to diet with, so why doesn’t he?  
Because maybe it’s not a diet  
Maybe it is a fucking disease.  
Maybe he’s been blind to the world for too long  
You don’t think right when you’re hungry.  
And he doesn’t remember the last time  
That he was truly, contentedly, full.  
Which means,  
It means,  
It-  
His mother has been lying to him for his entire life.

_-but that’s not your fault. And I don’t know who or what is telling you that starving yourself is your only path to happiness, but god, please believe me when I tell you it’s not._

“Gwen? What does anorexia mean? And body dysmorphia, I’ve never heard those words before. I, I want to know what’s wrong with me. How to stop being like this.”

And he learns.


End file.
